


An Incident at Troll Bridge

by lextenou



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Inspired by Literature, Inspired by The Twilight Zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lextenou/pseuds/lextenou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Humans need fantasy to be human." Terry Pratchett</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Incident at Troll Bridge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qym/gifts).



The Incident at Troll Bridge  
Second Year of the Ogre Wars during the Reign of King James and Queen Snow

 

* * *

 

The soft breeze through the trees danced along exposed skin, the gentlest touch caressing over firm hipbones. In the distance, birds chittered their songs against the sky, carrying the message to the Queen.

Emma Swan had been captured.

"Do you know why you are here?" Oily and thick, the voice began behind her and circled around until Emma could spy her captor. Dried mud caked along one side of the ogre's face, smeared down the shoulder and torso of the figure that was meant to be imposing. Despite their size, Emma had cut more than a few down to size. The worst was always their breath.

Thankfully this one was far enough away that she was spared that stench. Just the smell of upturned earth and decaying flesh reached her. The stump of the ogre's left arm oozed a black ichor, and the right bicep curled to the shoulder in a way Emma recognized as a torn ligament.

Maybe that was why the ogre had decided on this route rather than their usual hands on approach.

"I'm here because you're a fuckup." The insults were always easiest. The hardest part was making sure they could be understood. The veteran glaring at her through blood crusted eyes definitely understood.

A rapid flick of a mangled wrist, the thud of wood striking wood, the brief glimpse of bright blue sky through the mottled trees overhead...

Emma Swan was swinging from a rope on the Troll Bridge.

Gasped breath erupted from her throat. Loosely tied hands, bound in enchanted ropes, wriggled fruitlessly behind her back.

The birds continued to sing.

The woods began to disappear from her vision. Behind her, the retreating steps of the ogre slammed loudly onto the bridge, until they were muffled by the earthen ground of the forest.

Her last glimpse of the sky was blue. Incredibly, unbelievably blue.

Her feet kicked out, scrambling for any purchase on the air. The choking pressure on her neck approached the unbearable. Tears pricked at her eyes.

The rope creaked.

Her foot struck a stone on the side of the bridge gate from which she was hung, sending a vibration of pain through her leg. The stone clattered down, crashing ineffectually to the moss covered bridge below.

The rope snapped.

The befouled puddle into which she fell was unremarkable aside from its welcome stench. Each assult upon her freshly freed airways was deeply, strongly held dear as proof of her survival.

The ogre had been but one, the last of a squad Emma had encountered the previous day. She had trusted the finish to a guard that had joined with her. Apparently, finish meant, "leave the ogre alive enough to come back". The guard would no longer have any issue. His body lay on the bridge, his purse open and the few gold coins he help tinkling to the stonework as a crow pecked at them.

The trolls would emerge soon.

Gaining her feet, Emma stumbled away. The ogre had been stupid. The search made on her had been for weapons and gold.

It had completely missed the letter stuffed into her boot.

Her borrowed sword was left in a bent arc, embedded in a tree nearby.

She needed a drink, and more information.

Within the hour, Emma walked almost to the village of Traumen. The remnants of rope and fouled water had been removed as best she could, discarded in the woods surrounding the town. She hitched up her hood to cover her face and stepped onto the road leading her to Traumen.

It had been a market day. The coins from the dead guard's purse filled out her own. Despite the search, their coins had been left behind by the ogre, who by now was most likely dead. Regardless, it was wounded, and the next squad that came across it should have no issue dispatching it.

She wandered through the market, much of the day's crowd already dispersed. A cloud of thick vapor wafted in front of her, cloying in its sweet, pungent odor. Her throat closed at the scent, the musk of forest carried on the smoke. As she choked, bent in half and struggling for air, her arms burned from the exertion of waving the smoke away.

In a breath, the smoke cleared and Emma moved on.

A skewer of meat was quickly located and gnawed upon as she wandered through the market, avoiding the location where the smoke had appeared. A comfortable tavern was tucked around the corner. She smiled, memories of Granny and Red rising up unbidden.

She slouched into a stool, and quickly enough had a tankard of ale placed before her. Heavy scents of freshly baked bread and rich meaty stew filled the taproom. She smiled.

"Ogre got killed o'er the hill t'day. Hear tell it only had one arm." Emma swallowed a draught of her ale, ears perked and body relaxed as she listened to the drunks at the table behind her.

"White kingdom?"

"Dunno. Messenger's due. Maybe they'll know."

Emma smiled slightly, her thumb rubbing against the rough tankard.

"Y'hear something funny there, buck-o?" The heavy hand on her shoulder twirled her around on her stool. Heavily aled breath assaulted her senses and she met bleary, bloodshot eyes directly.

"Y'talk loud enough for them to hear at the castle. If you've secrets to share, watch your drink." Emma glared, hoping to force the barfly to shove off.

"Y'got fancy talk." The man swung wildly, his fist coming heavily down where Emma's head had just been. Her dodge backward was stunted by a thick beam, and the barfly's thick fingered, rough hands wrapped around her throat. The drunk strength wrung the air from her lungs, and she kicked out wildly. Her feet flailed until she gained a solid footing beneath her. The effort of keeping consciousness would drive her to the ground in mere moments if she didn't do something drastic.

A solid thud sounded through the taproom as Emma's knee connected solidly with the barfly's stomach. He collapsed forward, gasping, and she slammed her doubled fists into the back of his neck. He dropped to the ground in a heap, groaning lowly.

Silence reigned in the taproom.

Emma reached over her to ale.

"Looks like he can't hold his liquor none too well. He got any friends able to carry him home?" She downed the last of her ale, chairs scraping across the floor behind her. She placed the tankard back on the bar and left the tavern, murmurs of conversation following behind her.

The day had taken a lot out of her. She needed rest. There were some farms on the outskirts of the town, with large barns. Within a short time, she pushed open the side door of the barn and entered the cavernous building. Stalls lined one side of the barn, the horses within letting out soft whuffs in greeting. Well tended. A pile of spare horse blankets would suffice for her, she mused, as she lifted one from the neatly folded stack.

The hay loft would be a quieter, safer bed. She climbed the ladder, located a spot and settled in. The thick wool blanket scratched at her skin, but less than the hay were it to be touching her.

As the thought occured to her, some of the hay above her head shifted and fell against her neck. Coughing and spluttering, she fought free of the wrapped blanket, her throat rubbing raw against the rough ends of the hay. Dust from the hay fell into her eyes as she thrashed, making them water. She finally worked a hand free and shoved the hay away, shifting the blanket into a more protective coccoon around her head and neck. It would be stuffy, but definitely more comfortable than some of the other bedrolls she'd used.

She drifted quietly, relaxing into a more restful state. Rich dark eyes sparkled at her from her memory, twinkling in shared mirth. As she dropped into sleep, she could almost feel the soft fingers threading through her hair.

The rising of the sun bore through a high window in the barn, falling over Emma's face. She opened her eyes, taking stock of her surroundings and existence. Yesterday's excitement had tired her more than she had thought. She was usually up earlier than midmorning. Stretching, she worked her limbs loose before standing. A quick fold and return of the blanket, and she returned to her trek to the castle.

Her journey was more peaceful than the day previous, the forest stretching before her. The chirping of the birds overhead accompanied her, their pleasant song making the journey seem shorter than it was. It felt mere moments when she arrived at the castle's postern gate. A quick hail by a guard she had a passing familiarity with saw her given entrance as was her right. The hallways fell away quickly beneath her tread, leaving her standing before the door to her Queen's chambers in mere breaths.

Her hand reaches for the door.

It drops as she does, knees and hand colliding with the hard flagstone. Deep wracking coughs fight to free themselves from her throat, caught just inside her throat. She can no longer draw in or expel breath, her throat cosntricted and throbbing. The raw skin of her neck burns from an unseen friction.

Dimly, a scream of rage sounds in the distance, almost as a dream. Her ears are filled with a rushing, desperate roar, as fire.

She can't tell if its real or not.

The world fades and she collapses, dust blowing around her spent form.

Soft breezes caress her bruised flesh. A steady stream of invective is raining down upon her, threats against herself, her family, her future children.

"So help me, Miss Swan, if you do not wake up right this instant, you will regret it for the rest of your miserable little life!"

With a cough, Emma startles back to full consciousness. The birds overhead chirp merrily, their blissful song filling the valley traversed by the Troll Bridge. Emma inhales, a welcome and familiar scent filling her senses.

"Is that any way to speak to your loving wife?" Emma almost winces at her roughened voice. The choking rope had reduced her tones to a raw rasp more evocative of rough liquors and smoky taverns than her true background. She shifted slightly, her head pillowed on thighs she had long since mapped with gentle touch.

"Emma." The gasped sob burst from Regina as she wrapped the prone and much abused woman in her arms. Emma wrapped her hand around Regina's elbow, noting the torn and mussed riding clothes that betrayed just how rushed and worried Regina had been. "I almost lost you."

Despite the scratch of her voice and the ache in her neck and lungs, Emma reaches up to cup one of Regina's cheeks and grins. "Nah. You always find me."

Regina's choking splutters were worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Based upon the premise of Ambrose Bierce's "An Occurence at Owl Creek Bridge or a Dying Man's Dream", available here: http://fiction.eserver.org/short/occurrence_at_owl_creek.html 
> 
> It was also made into a stunning Twilight Zone episode, available on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DocXC-kobmU


End file.
